


Blood On My Hands

by Drazyrohk



Series: Drifting [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Background Character Death, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emetophobia, Gore, Medical Procedures, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drazyrohk/pseuds/Drazyrohk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeping his word to Perceptor, Ratchet goes off to find Drift and bring him home.  Unfortunately, Drift's return comes with a lot more baggage than the medic was quite ready to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first attempt at a gift for my friend, but I soon realized that it was A) never going to be finished in time and B) full of far too much robot romance for her tastes because apparently I can't write about these two without wanting them to have a happily ever after. I didn't want to just scrap it because I actually sort of like it and I have bucket loads of planning for it. So here it is!
> 
> This was supposed to be short. A one shot. It was not supposed to turn into another epic! Oh well! 
> 
> I am woefully behind on the comics, so this is officially my own version of the whole "Ratchet goes to find Drift" story. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Horror Elements  
> Alien OC's  
> Lots and lots of death and gore

There was a numbness that set in after a few centuries of war, a struts deep sort of indifference that made it so nothing surprised you and nothing really bothered you anymore. Ratchet had gotten used to death, had gotten used to seeing corpses. He had gotten used to walking battlefields instead of streets. 

He thought he was past the point of wanting to purge his tank after stumbling onto the scene of a massacre, but here he was, doubled over with one hand braced on the hull of his shuttle so he didn’t fall down as his tank emptied itself of what little fuel he had remembered to consume that morning. 

He had to shut off his medical protocols to keep them from sending cascades of angry red errors over his HUD. He hadn’t seen anything like this. Not in all his years. Not in the entirety of the war.

Ratchet tried to tell himself that it was just the bodies that had him in such bad shape. He told himself this sickness and horror had nothing to do with the fact that he had come here searching for Drift. He tried to tell himself that he had come here following Drift’s spark signature that was still blinking on his scanners and that meant Drift was alive here somewhere. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference. 

There were bodies piled together in masses of grey. From where he was standing, Ratchet could see that almost all of them had their sparks removed. There were limbs and weapons missing from most, as though they had been picked over for their more desirable parts before being discarded. All of the cuts on the bodies were made with precision, but not by any blades that he was familiar with. 

There was very little energon left on, in or around them. This wasn’t a massacre, this was a cull. 

And Drift was out there somewhere, right now. The little blinking light on his scanner was the only thing that gave Ratchet the strength to straighten and start moving.

He should have expected this. He should have known that his current misadventure would have him waist deep in corpses, shoving them aside while desperately searching for his friend. Hadn’t he done this before? Ratchet was pretty sure he had done this before. 

Hope was starting to run out when he finally caught sight of something that was a slightly different shade of grey. Dragging a torso off the pile, Ratchet made a noise of triumph. He leaned down and seized the mech he had uncovered under the arms, offering thanks to whomever may have been listening that the mech still had all his limbs.

Drift was intact. Unconscious, filthy and made up almost entirely of dents, but intact. He was also alive. Ratchet had to press his audial against Drift’s chest to make sure, but there was the whir of mechanical systems and the slow pulse of a fuel pump. He could barely make out the hum of Drift’s vents, and the swordsmech was colder than he was comfortable with. 

“I swear to all the gods you believe in, Drift, if you die on me, I am going to bring you back to life just so I can kill you myself.” Ratchet said, heaving Drift over his shoulder and turning to hurry back to his shuttle. He paused, muttering a curse. Laying Drift back down on the ground briefly, he waded back into the pile and began rooting around once more. 

It took longer than he liked to find what he was looking for, Ratchet hauling the greatsword that Drift carried with him everywhere from beneath the pile where the mech had likely hidden it when he was seeking shelter. He moved back to the swordsmech and gently rolled him onto his front so he could secure the greatsword on his back. Once he was done, Ratchet lifted Drift and slung him over his shoulder again. 

For such a skinny mech, Drift was heavy. The return journey was harder than the search had been, and condensation was beading heavily on Ratchet’s frame by the time he got the swordsmech back to the shuttle. Struts creaking and vents heaving, Ratchet practically dropped Drift onto the floor. He winced and removed the greatsword, setting it aside and dragging his medical kit across the floor as he dropped down next to Drift. 

The first thing he did was open a diagnostic port and plug himself in. He then prepared an energon transfusion, hoping that low fuel was the reason Drift was still unconscious. 

The diagnostic scan told Ratchet there was enough trauma to justify Drift being offline. He had been fighting, no doubt trying to absolve himself like the idealistic idiot he was. 

The transfusion saw that Drift’s systems were running more smoothly, his fans kicking in and his spark beginning to pulse normally. Ratchet didn’t bother smoothing out his dents, figuring that could come later. 

The swordsmech’s vents hitched a few times, Ratchet pausing in his work. He barely had time to turn Drift onto his side in recovery position before a great deal of congealed energon escaped from his mouth, splattering onto the floor of the shuttle. 

Ratchet’s spark lurched, but when Drift went rigid and then began coughing to clear his vents, he felt relief burn through him. “That’s it, kid.” He murmured, putting his hand on Drift’s back so that his EM field could properly convey _comfort/reassurance/company_. “Get it all out.”

The scans hadn’t shown any damage to Drift’s tanks or inner organs that internal repair couldn’t handle now that his frame was getting proper fuel, so Ratchet figured it best to let nature take its course. 

Gagging and coughing, Drift began trying to push himself up. 

“Oh no you don’t.” Ratchet scolded, putting gentle pressure on the filthy, dented frame to keep it down. “You’ve had your aft kicked halfway to scrap, Drift, you’re not going anywhere.”

Vocalizer clicking and fizzing, Drift turned dim optics towards Ratchet. His hand closed over the medic’s chest plate, dragging at him. “R-ra...a-atch?”

“That’s right, it’s me.” Ratchet put his hand over Drift’s, his expression gentling. “I came for you.” 

Shoving Ratchet’s hand off, Drift bared fangs and then grabbed him again, grip tight. “G-g...et… aw-w-way.” He struggled to say, Ratchet blinking in shock. “R...u-un.”

He didn’t bother asking the injured mech why. Ratchet took Drift’s hand in his own, squeezed it tightly, then stood and moved to the controls of the shuttle. He couldn’t close the door until he moved Drift, but he wanted to get the shuttle warmed up. 

By the time he went to move Drift, the stubborn mech had dragged himself into the mess he’d made on the floor. Ratchet ignored that as he hauled Drift to his feet, supporting him against his own frame. 

Half carrying and half dragging him, Ratchet got Drift into the co-pilot’s seat. “W-w...w-wi-” Drift stammered, Ratchet hushing him gently before moving to get the greatsword. When it was tucked into the space between the seat and the hull, Drift passed out with one hand gripping it weakly. 

While the shuttle began to lift off, Ratchet gazed over at Drift with a degree of anguish. He’d get them somewhere safe, then he was going to wake the other mech and… and…

And either he was going to scold him until his audio receptors started leaking or he was going to kiss the daylights out of him and hug him until their plating fused. Reaching up a hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and ex-vented harshly. He had to focus. Something had spooked Drift a great deal and Ratchet was the only one who could get them somewhere safe and keep them that way until he could put the pale mech back together again.

 

It was dark. He couldn’t move. His couldn’t feel his body. 

They had found him. They had found him and harvested him! They had taken his organs, his limbs, his parts!

He tried to thrash, tried to escape, but nothing he did made his optics or his arms or his legs activate. He tried to scream but no sound came forth. 

“Stop.” A voice commanded, only serving to fuel his efforts. “I wasn’t taking any chances. I’ve temporarily paralyzed you until I can pinpoint the parts of you that are the most damaged and fix them.”

Fix? Fix them? Why fix them? 

“Oh slag.” The voice muttered, then his optics finally came online. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had that unplugged. Should be able to see now.” Things were hazy and terrible. The thing above him shifted oddly, undulated as his vision glitched and distorted. Finally, after he reset his optics a few times, the image became clearer.

An expanse of red and white hovering just over him. A familiar, very gruff expression worn on an otherwise tired face. 

“Rein it in, Drift.” Ratchet said gently, going back to work. “I wasn’t expecting you to wake up. You can’t move, but your EM field is sort of exploding everywhere. Do you have any idea how distracting that is?”

Now he was wondering if it had been a nightmare. This was Cybertron. This was the Dead End. This was Ratchet’s clinic. Orion Pax had carried him here so Ratchet could fix him. He had tried to kill himself, hadn’t he? Boosters jammed straight into his brain module… he had been another pathetic leaker on the street. 

All of the terribleness that had followed, the monsters and the slaughter… Deadlock. All of it had been a bad dream.

“Stay with me, Drift.” Ratchet said, still working away. 

His doctor, his Ratchet… he sounded older. He sounded so very tired. 

“There. That ought to do it.” Ratchet’s presence pushed into his sensor net, and suddenly he could feel again. “No leaping up off this table, do you understand me, kid?”

A ridiculous amount of static escaped Drift’s mouth when he tried to speak, the swordsmech finding it got no better when he reset his vocalizer. Ratchet frowned, then cupped his hand around the back of Drift’s helm to lift him slightly so he could feed him energon. 

“Look, you should probably go back to sleep and let your internal repair do its thing. I got us off that hell hole you were stuck on. We’re safe, Drift, I promise you that. Sleep for now. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Ratchet promised as he lowered Drift back down. 

Ratchet’s words were confusing, so Drift decided the best thing to do would be to do as he was told. Ratchet knew what he was talking about, after all… And it wasn’t hard to comply with the doctor’s orders. Now that he could feel all his extremities, he realized how sore and tired he was. A static filled ‘thank you’ escaped him and Drift shut his optics.

 

It was normal to be disoriented, especially when one had experienced a great deal of trauma, but Ratchet was pretty sure Drift’s disorientation had more to do with long suffered PTSD than more recent events. 

He felt his own exhaustion creeping in. He hadn’t exactly been recharging well since he left the _Lost Light_ … too preoccupied with the task at hand to really worry about a good night’s sleep. With Drift resting so deeply, Ratchet thought that maybe he could get away with having a few winks himself. As long as he didn’t move too far from the swordsmech’s side, so that he would be there when Drift awoke, he should be safe. 

Even though he was sitting up, Ratchet found himself getting better recharge than he had in ages. His systems took the opportunity to go through a proper defrag and by the time he woke to the sound of Drift once again coughing energon out of his vents, he felt better than he had since leaving Cybertron. 

“Easy.” Ratchet heard himself grunt, straightening and stretching to get the crick out of his neck. “Don’t fight it, Drift, just let it out. It’s the Pit, I know, but you’ll feel better when it’s over.” 

“Where?” Drift asked in a rather fierce tone once he managed to take a few unobstructed vents. 

“Not sure, exactly. I took us away from that world I found you on. Now that you seem to be a little more coherent, you mind telling me what’s going on?” Ratchet urged Drift to roll onto his side just in case he started coughing again, but the smaller mech shoved him away and began trying to get up. “Stop that, you’re in no shape to move. I obviously missed a bleed somewhere inside you if your vents are still filling up like this. You were at death’s door, Drift.” 

“Been there before. Where are we?” Drift asked haltingly, giving Ratchet a furious look. 

“Not far from where I found you.” Ratchet wasn’t about to give in, putting his hands on Drift’s shoulders and wrestling the other mech down onto the berth again. “Stay still, fraggit all.” 

“Can’t go… _Lost Light_ … too dangerous!” Drift fought him, but in the end he was still too exhausted to put up too much of a real fight. “Don’t lead them there!” 

“Who are they?” Ratchet growled, tempted to strap the kid down so he couldn’t hurt himself even more. 

“Demons! Wearing dead armor!” Drift was beginning to panic. It would be easier to drug him, but Ratchet wouldn’t do that to Drift. Not with his past. 

“Look at me. Drift, look at me.” He instructed, the slender frame beneath his hands going curiously still. Blue optics stared up at him and Ratchet managed a reassuring smile. “You’re alright. You’re with me, okay? There are no demons here, it’s just you and I.”

“Ratchet?” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Beginning to worry that the kid’s processor was damaged, Ratchet let his smile slip a little. “I’m Ratchet.”

“Are you really?” Drift’s voice was very small, and it wavered in a manner that Ratchet hadn’t heard since back when Optimus Prime was still a cop named Orion Pax. “Can you prove it to me?”

“How would you like me to do that?” Ratchet asked with a slight frown.

“Your spark. Show me your spark.” 

That was a strangely specific request. Ratchet leaned back a little, looking down at Drift and frowning further. “I can do that, but you have to promise to keep your hands to yourself.” He said, not wanting to speak with an air of suspicion but not entirely trusting Drift’s cognition at the moment.

He waited until Drift nodded, startling when the smaller mech took hold of his hands and gripped them tightly. Ex-venting, Ratchet folded his chestplates back and let his spark casing iris open. Blue light flickered over Drift’s faceplates, the pale mech letting his optics shift downwards to look at the spark now bared before him. 

Relief flooded Drift’s field and he gave Ratchet’s hands a squeeze. “Thank the gods.” He said under his breath. “It’s you. You’re real.” 

“Sure seems like it.” Ratchet said with a touch of confusion, closing his chestplates again and gently extricating his hands from Drift’s deathgrip. “Now, how about you enlighten me a little?”

He didn’t like how low Drift’s energon levels were again. He was going to have to open him up to find the bleed. “Open up.” He patted Drift’s chest and pushed him onto his back again. “I’ll work while you talk.”

“...I…” Looking up at him, Drift gave him a rather put out expression but lay back with a short ex-vent and opened his chest plates. “I just need to do some breathing first. Calm myself down.” 

“You do that.” Ratchet murmured, numbing him and setting about his work immediately. He plugged in to the slender mech, glancing at him. “Firewalls down, please.” 

Drift had never liked having medical procedures performed on him. Hence his sudden need to indulge in his hippy-dippy spirituality bullshit. Through their connection, Drift sent Ratchet a rather bitter jolt but did as he was instructed. Ratchet turned off the sensors in the left half of Drift’s body and set about sifting through his innards for any sign of a leak. 

It took almost half an hour for the swordsmech to start talking again, and by that time Ratchet had discovered a tear inside one of Drift’s vents. It wouldn’t take long to patch it. 

“I tracked a group of Decepticons to that planet.” Drift said, hands folded high on his chest and optics turned to the roof of the shuttle. “I was trying to make things right.” 

“Of course you were.” Ratchet said, glancing at Drift’s face before turning back to the wound he was welding shut.

“Turns out, I wasn’t the only one tracking them. And I wasn’t the first to arrive.” Drift was tensing. Ratchet prodded his systems through the diagnostic link and forced him to relax. “The demons got there sometime before me and lay traps everywhere. I had no idea… not until it was too late.” 

This was likely going to be a painful injury to recover from. Ratchet scowled, trying to figure out how to ease Drift’s pain while still allowing him to breathe. If he numbed the vent, it wouldn’t work right and Drift would have to contend with discomfort and sluggish systems, not to mention there was a risk of him overheating, taking his high performance engine and his racing frame into account.

If he offered him drugs to help cope with the pain, Drift might disagree on principle due to his past substance abuse issues, or he might agree far too readily. Either way, Ratchet wasn’t sure that was a safe option. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Drift had managed a painful wound without assistance, so there was always allowing the swordsmech to use his ‘faith’ to let the wound heal without help. 

“There was a small party of them. When the Decepticons came to meet me on the field, the demons set upon them like a turbofox in a pen of petro rabbits. They had these darts that punched straight through outer armor, no matter how heavy the armor was. If you got hit by one, you’d go down hard.” Drift continued, shifting slightly in discomfort. 

“Stop moving.” Ratchet scolded, the ex-Con muttering an apology that sounded genuine. “Once the Decepticons were down, what happened to them?”

Swallowing, Drift looked at Ratchet. There was a shadow in his optics that wasn’t a product of Drift’s theatrics, so Ratchet paused in his work to give the other mech his full attention. 

“They started removing their energon. They siphoned it from the ‘Cons while they were still online.” Drift said softly. “They couldn’t move, so they couldn’t stop the demons from doing it. Once their energon was drained, one of the others would extract their sparks.” 

That sent a sick jolt through Ratchet’s frame, the mech looking briefly away from Drift. It was as he had feared. A culling. A harvest. 

“Then they started taking off limbs that had weapons. Parts of mechs that could be repurposed.” Drift muttered.

“What do you mean, repurposed?” 

“Ratchet, those demons… they looked just like us. Just like you and me. But they didn’t have sparks. I couldn’t read a spark signature on any of them. Some of them… the grey was showing through where their paint was damaged. They were wearing armor made of dead Cybertronians.” 

It took a few minutes for the information Drift had just handed him to sink in. Ratchet stared at the other mech, first dubiously, then in concern, then in outright rage and horror.

“How do you know for sure?” He heard himself ask, Drift meeting his optics again.

“I saw one get taken down.” Shifting again and prompting Ratchet to pin him down with a firm hand on his shoulder, Drift grimaced. “The leader of the group I was after fought back. They didn’t dart him… they ganged up on him once the others were out of the way.” 

Noting that Drift was purposefully leaving out names, Ratchet gestured for him to go on.

“It was organic. Some sort of organic thing riding around in a suit of dead armor.” Drift said weakly. “I was badly hurt, but in the fray I managed to pull myself into a pile of discards with the Greatsword. They were pretty caught up in the fight and I’m not sure they noticed me moving.” 

It was starting to click, to make more sense. Drift had survived when countless others had been harvested. 

“The aliens didn’t almost kill you.” Ratchet said. “The Decepticons did.” His tone was hard and Drift’s finials lowered like the ears of a petro rabbit. “Drift, for pity’s sake!” 

“I would have died fighting a good fight! It was an attempt to absolve myself of-”

The sound of Ratchet’s hand connecting with Drift’s helm was unnaturally loud. Or maybe Ratchet had just hit him harder than he intended to. Drift made no attempt to move away from the strike, but he trembled as Ratchet withdrew.

“You idiot.” Hissing, the medic turned away. Looking at the other mech just made him want to hit him again. Drift didn’t look sorry… he had that steely expression that he got when something happened that he felt he deserved. “You incredible fragging idiot, why? Why do you do these things?!” 

“Ratchet, I put everyone’s lives in danger!” Drift growled, a dark expression on his face when Ratchet turned back to him.

“No. Don’t you dare try to take the blame for what happened on the Lost Light. I know the truth, we all do. Rodimus told us he was in on it the whole time.” Ratchet watched the dark look melt into confusion. “It was put to a vote whether or not to keep that waste of space as our Captain and he managed to win. I voted against him. I am personally rather disillusioned with our illustrious Rodimus Prime.” 

“Ratchet-” Drift began, the medic cutting him off with an angry noise. 

“I swear, when I get you back to the _Lost Light_ -”

“We can’t! We can’t go back!” Drift suddenly burst out, surging up off the berth. Immediately, his legs crumpled beneath him and he pitched forward, Ratchet moving to catch him without a second thought. 

“Drift! Half your body’s still numb and you’re chest is wide open! You can’t get up!” He growled, the swordsmech clutching at him. 

“We can’t go back to the _Lost Light_!” 

“And why not? It’s your home, you fool. It’s where both of us belong. I also told Percy I’d bring you back.” Ratchet forced Drift back up onto the berth and checked to make sure he hadn’t damaged himself more. Seeing as there wasn’t anything else he could do about the vent right now, Ratchet started closing the other mech up. 

“They’ll follow us. Don’t you see? It’s another trap, another trick! They’re probably out there waiting for us right now! An injured mech like me isn’t much of a prize, but you came in this shuttle and they’ll probably follow you back home! Imagine what they would do on the _Lost Light_ , Ratch… All of our people, our friends…” Drift’s optics flickered and he began shuddering, Ratchet cursing softly beneath his breath and working to restabilize him. 

 

The thing Shrike hated most about Cybertronians was the whole immortality thing. The fuckers didn’t age. They lingered. 

His food stores were going to run out at this rate and he’d have to go limping back to the Fleet. He didn’t know what those two red and white Cybertronians were doing in that shuttle, but he knew that the boxy one was a medic just from the symbols it wore on it’s upper arms. 

Likely, the boxy one was patching up the one with the legs. Seeing as the thing had been in such bad shape when the hunters arrived, Shrike figured it would take it a while to finish, but this was ridiculous.

“Times like these, I wish I had been the one to get my hands on that attention deflector thing Miets stole from me on that last hunt. Still think I should have killed the shit out of him for that.” He muttered, looking from the view screen to the helm that was sitting on the floor in front of his chair. He decided not to just sit while he was waiting for the other shuttle to move out of orbit. He had new trophies to affix to his armor, after all.

The new helm fin was good. It was a nice touch. And the thing he had gotten it off of wasn’t going to be needing it anymore, so he might as well make use of it. If he managed to track this shuttle back to its source, he might even be able to barter for the other two fins that had been on the same mech he got these from. Having a matching set never hurt.

Finishing with the welding, Shrike slid out of the pilot’s seat and made his way back to his armor. Scaling upwards, he pressed himself into the lifepod and sealed it. Starting up his armor’s systems, he stood and moved to pick up the helm off the floor. 

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He muttered, placing the helm on the armor and waiting for the optics to come online so he could look back out at the shuttle. “I know you have to be wanting to get your friend home. Lead me to the big prize... “ 

The shuttle wasn’t meant for long periods of deep space exploration. And it wasn’t big enough to carry the fuel it would take to get two Cybertronians far from home. They’d likely run out of fuel before he ran out of food, so all Shrike had to do was be patient. 

With so much riding on his success, Shrike wasn’t sure how much patience he had left. He looked down at the armor he wore and made a tsking sound at the back of his throat. The paint was coming off again. The Cybertronians only kept their color while they were alive. Once they had no energon left and their sparks had been removed, they turned grey. 

The paint he wore to keep the grey from showing was flaking off. It always did that after a while, but it seemed to be happening far too frequently for Shrike’s tastes. 

Maybe there were Transformers on the ship or moon or planet this shuttle would be flying back to that would be a better fit for him. It had been a very long time since Shrike had been granted the privilege of a fresh suit of armor. 

“Something bigger this time, perhaps?” He said to himself with a pleased hum. “Maybe with a couple swords, those seem to be popular right now. Or wings. I’ve always admired the wings… Or maybe some interesting systems that I could get running to give me an edge over Miets and Synsa.” 

Of course, this would only come to fruition if the damn shuttle would actually go somewhere. 

“Might have to employ scare tactics if this goes on too much longer.” He muttered.

 

Almost all the lights and systems had been powered down when Drift awoke. He found it hurt less to move, hurt more to cycle air through his vents and there were a few error messages and a low fuel warning on his HUD. 

He lifted his head, finding that Ratchet wasn’t immediately there to push him back down again. Moving slowly, he sat up, then swung his legs over the edge of the berth. They were drifting in orbit still, and he felt a flood of relief that Ratchet seemed to have heeded his warnings for now. 

Standing wasn’t too difficult. Walking was pretty sketchy, but he made sure not to stumble around like a drunken mech outside an oil house as he made his way towards the only other life signature aboard the shuttle.

It wasn’t a large craft. Ratchet wasn’t far away, sitting on the floor and staring into a closet in the dark. 

He didn’t stir when Drift approached, the taller mech realizing that Ratchet had fallen into recharge where he sat. Smiling despite how awful he felt, Drift wobbled into a crouch and put a gentle hand on the medic’s shoulder, causing him to jolt awake. 

“How bad is it?” Drift asked softly, Ratchet resetting his optics a few times before grumbling something and rubbing a hand over his face.

“Why are you up?” He said, voice rough. 

“How bad is it, Ratchet?” Drift repeated, and the medic’s expression hardened a little. 

“We might make it back to the _Lost Light_ , if we left now.” Ratchet said, ex-venting slowly. “If we ration, we might be able to wait a little longer, but if we get into a confrontation, we won’t be fuelled enough to power our weapons for long.” 

“That’s assuming we’re going to be using weapons that need our energon to power them.” Drift’s gaze turned towards where the Greatsword was resting against the wall outside the door to the flight deck.

“You’re gonna burn through your rations really fast if you go swinging that thing around.” Ratchet said, getting to his feet and helping Drift up. “Come on, you ought to be resting.” 

“If we left now, they might follow us.” 

“If we got back to the _Lost Light_ , we wouldn’t be trying to fend them off alone.” 

“Ratchet, these things might just be worse than Overlord.”

“I somehow doubt that.” Ratchet paused, then helped Drift the last few feet and let him sit down in the co-pilots chair. “But then again, it’s the _Lost Light_ , so you never know.” 

“I can’t do that to them again.” Drift said in a rather savage tone, the mech lacking the strength to do more than sit there and fill the space around them with his seething EM field. 

A hand closed around his jaw and his head was jerked up rather painfully. Ratchet’s optics were fierce. There weren’t many mechs who could freeze someone in their steps with a look, and most of the ones that Drift was aware of were Decepticons. 

Ratchet couldn’t only freeze you with a look, he could stop your spark with one. That look scared Drift more than the demons did. 

“Shut. Your. Stupid. Mouth.” Ratchet growled. “You weren’t solely responsible for the mess with Overlord, no one’s deaths are on your hands alone and Rodimus was wrong. Do you understand me?” When Drift’s field continued roiling, Ratchet’s grip tightened. “I asked you a question.” 

“Ratchet.” Drift tried to say, but his face was being squeezed by Ratchet’s incredible medic’s hand and he couldn’t really speak that eloquently. 

“Move your head. Yes or no.” 

Drift scowled. Ratchet gave him another one of those looks, reaching up to grab his finial with his free hand. Letting out a pained noise that was probably a bit too high pitched, Drift finally nodded. 

“Good.” Letting go of Drift’s finial, Ratchet crouched down in front of him. “Listen kid… You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but that thing with Overlord wasn’t your fault. You were part of a stupid plot. Do you hear me? It was stupid… you shouldn’t let yourself be talked into doing stupid things. Cause it makes you stupid too.” 

“You’re stupid.” Drift said, rubbing his jaw and ignoring Ratchet’s optic roll. 

“We’re going to starve to death out here, or we’re going to picked off like sick buffaloids by a pack of rabid turbofoxes. I’m taking us back to the _Lost Light_.” Ratchet informed him, sitting down in the pilot’s seat.

 

It was hard not to immediately pursue. Shrike hissed quietly and let his ship’s thrusters burn, waiting for the shuttle to get some distance before giving chase. 

Hopefully these two Cybertronians were cowardly enough to run home to the mothership. Usually, Shrike appreciated it when prey put up a fight, but this time around he was eager to move from the appetizer to the main course. 

It didn’t take long for the shuttle to pick up speed, and Shrike felt a rush move through him. So, they knew he was here, did they? That was just fine. 

He maintained speed and distance, following the shuttle like a persistent shadow. Shrike wasn’t calling this a victory, not just yet. 

 

“Still following?” Ratchet asked, his voice tense. 

“Yes.” Drift’s venting had become labored and his chromati-nanites had his paint taking on a washed out look that gave Ratchet concern. It could be that the swordsmech was just nervous, or feeling nauseous from their swift but bumpy flight. “It hasn’t gotten closer and we’re not outrunning it.” 

“Scanners?” Ratchet didn’t dare look away from the controls or the view screen. He was pushing this shuttle harder than it seemed keen on running, but so far there wasn’t any damage or any malfunctions he had to worry about.

Making a soft, strained noise, Drift flicked his optics down at the scanner. “We’re too far away from anything to pick up signals on the long range-” He cut himself off, pressing a hand over his mouth. 

“If you’re gonna purge, don’t do it in here.” 

“Too scared to move.” 

“Drift, if you throw up on the flight deck, you’re going to spend the rest of this trip tied up in the supply closet!” 

“The way you’re flying, this trip won’t be a long one!” 

“It’s not me, it’s the damn shuttle!” 

“... sorry.” Drift said unexpectedly. He lowered his hand and braced himself against the console in front of him. “It’s not the shuttle’s fault, or yours… I think my equilibrium sensors are shot.” 

“That’s possible considering you had the slag kicked out of you not too long ago.” Ratchet grumbled, hands still gripping the controls tightly. “Scanners?” 

Cursing under his breath, Drift looked down at them again. “Picking up a meteor with a mining colony on it. Not Cybertronian in nature.” He said, leaning back in his seat. 

“No good. Supplies are too tight on mining colonies for them to spare fuel. They also might just kill us to spare themselves any trouble.” Ratchet felt condensation beading on his forehead and longed to wipe it away, but he didn’t dare take his hands off the controls. 

After a few moments of tense silence, Drift sat forward. 

“Hub world. It’s small, but it’s not far off. They’ve got a spaceport, registering the prices in shanix.” He said, a hint of relief in his voice. 

“Co-ords.” As soon as Drift supplied them, Ratchet punched them in and immediately veered onto their new course. “Still following?” 

“Yes.” Drift’s voice held agitation this time and he struggled to make himself comfortable in the co-pilot’s chair. “It’s still behind us.” 

“Hopefully this hub world isn’t full of them.” Ratchet muttered. “And let’s hope that it’s not full of Decepticons either. Not all of them are aware the war is over and even the ones that are don’t like us. You certainly didn’t help that in this particular stretch of space.”

“I doubt any of the ones I fought survived long enough after our confrontation to spread the word to their friends.” Drift said, speaking softly. 

Ratchet reached over and shoved him, garnering a grunt and an irritated flick of his EM field. “Don’t pass out on me. I need your optics.” 

“Then fly faster.” Drift stated, said optics dim.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long delayed second chapter finally going up. Only warning is more gore, but there will be plenty of gore in this story!
> 
> Oh, and I guess I should also warn about the OC's. They are in this. There are OC's. One of them is totally based on my best friend's Mazda.

It had been a very long time since Ratchet’s knuckles had creaked like this, the medic’s grip on the controls of the shuttle so tight he wondered if he was going to be able to let go. 

Drift was pale and cold in the seat next to him, had been unconscious for the last twenty minutes, but Ratchet couldn’t afford to stop and check on him with the big ship still pursuing them. So long as the labored vents of the sports model could still be heard over the squealing protests of the shuttle’s engines, Ratchet would keep going. 

That hub world wasn’t far off now. They could make it. It was too late to start having regrets, but if it ended up that this hub they were heading to was filled with the demons that had Drift so scared, Ratchet hoped he would have a chance to at least tell the stupid kid how much he meant to him before they were torn apart. 

Proximity alarms started going off, Ratchet hissing a curse out from behind clenched denta. The ship behind them was now above them and moving rapidly to fall into what appeared to be an attempt at interception. It was at least twice the size of the shuttle, and it was armed, which meant that if Ratchet failed to stop or evade, it could possibly disable them. 

“Back the frag off.” Ratchet growled. His spark was spinning so fast he was beginning to feel dizzy. He watched the ship on the view screen, watched it execute a slick turn so that the shuttle was now headed at it straight on. 

His hands shoved the controls forward so the shuttle went into a dive to get beneath the ship as he approached it swiftly, the craft shuddering from the effort. The other ship tilted to try and stop him, but Ratchet’s maneuver had obviously caught the demon flying it off guard.

Drift slumped forward in a disconcerting manner, Ratchet glad that he had convinced the swordsmech to strap himself in before they started running.

A communication prompt began sounding, Ratchet glancing briefly at the light blinking on the control panel and cursing again. It took real effort to release the flight controls with one hand to punch the button answering the call. 

“Unidentified Cybertronian craft, you are approaching the planetoid with too much speed and a very poor vector.” A voice on the other end said almost immediately. “We advise that you decrease speed immediately to avoid a crash.” 

“I’d love to, but I’m sort of being chased by someone.” Ratchet replied in a strained voice. “I’m currently performing evasive maneuvers, hence the poor vector.” 

“Acknowledged. Designation?” 

“Medical Officer Ratchet, carrying an injured colleague who is in dire need of repair.” Ratchet was panting now. The bigger craft had spun around to pursue again and the sensors were now screaming at him that weapons were powering up. “I don’t know what this guy’s problem is, but he sure is getting ready to shoot me out of the sky.” 

“Acknowledged.” The voice said it more hesitantly this time. “Alignment?” 

“Does it matter? The war is over, isn’t it?” Ratchet snapped. 

“You’re right about that, but we still have to ask.” The voice said in a patient tone. “This hub’s neutral ground.” 

“I’m an Autobot, as is my passenger.” Ratchet’s hands were getting slick with condensation. He was getting very close to telling whoever was calling to frag themselves or make themselves useful and get this ship off his aft. “I’m a medic, I come with peaceful intentions, I just want to help my friend and I have no idea who it is that’s chasing us or why they’re trying to stop us!” 

“We get a lot of pirates out this way. Standby, I am enroute.” The communication terminated and Ratchet glanced briefly at Drift before once again preparing to try and avoid whatever the ship behind him threw at them. 

The demon flying the ship was firing warning shots, ones that came dangerously close to hitting them but still managed to pass right by. That seemed to mean that their pursuer either didn’t want to actually hit them or wasn’t a good enough shot to disable them without killing them outright. 

He wondered how far he could push his luck and moved the shuttle closer to the hub. The upper hull screeched as weapon fire grazed it, the entire shuttle shuddering again. Ratchet couldn’t keep it steady, the craft wobbling in a disconcerting manner. 

More glancing blows caused him to lose further control, Ratchet having no choice but to slam on the proverbial brakes and try to slow down. The other ship bore down on them, weapons once again charging...

Then a Cybertronian, a shuttleformer that was sleek and brightly colored red and blue, shot out of the blackness ahead of them. A cannon mounted to the front of it charged and fired, the ship that was on Ratchet’s tail veering sharply to avoid it. He felt the craft trembling around him again and began trying to further decrease speed so that he and Drift wouldn’t end up shredded as they came in for a landing. 

“Damn it all, I’m a medic, not a pilot.” Ratchet muttered. He’d take a tricky surgery over a situation like this any day. Not to mention, his protocols were becoming very persistent that he should be focusing on fixing Drift. 

The shuttleformer and the enemy ship were moving away from the hub, exchanging fire, but it seemed that the demon was still attempting to get to Ratchet and Drift. Like a persistent turbofox, the shuttleformer kept cutting it off, taking shots that eventually did enough damage to make the enemy flee. 

 

…

 

Snarling, Shrike narrowed his eyes. There was no way around the shuttle and his maneuverability was greatly reduced thanks to the bastard taking out one of his thrusters. He had come so close… 

The communications panel chirped at him, opening automatically before he could respond to the prompt. That meant it was a call from someone who outranked him, and sure enough he found himself glancing up and meeting the eyes of the last person he wanted to speak to in this situation.

“Having fun playing tag out there?” Miets asked in a voice that was both obnoxiously cheerful and altogether too smug.

“Don’t gloat, Miets, it makes you uglier than you are already. Make yourself useful and get this thing away from me!” Shrike demanded. 

“I wish I could help, brother, I really do, but…” Miets paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, then clicked with laughter. “But I’m not going to. After all, you actually made my job easier for once.” 

“What does that mean? Miets, if you don’t get this thing off my back, it’s going to kill me!” Shrike said, grunting and wincing when his ship took another direct hit. His shields were definitely not going to last much longer. 

“Hate to break it to you, Shrike, but I just got word from Command. You’re being tasked with making the ultimate sacrifice to pave the way for something greater.” Miets said, taking a sudden interest in his primary set of claws. 

His ship rocking hard as he was hit again, his shields finally going down, Shrike stared at the comm screen. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m so close! This could be the score of a lifetime!” He protested, Miets’ mouth splitting into a smirk. 

“And it likely will be. But not for you, Shrike. Now, stop your whining and die with a little dignity, won’t you?”

“Miets!” Shrike shouted. “You put them up to this, didn’t you?! You’ve been trying to undermine me since day one, but you’ve never stooped this low! What do you mean, ‘something greater?’ Miets?”

“Sadly, the information is classified, brother. Need to know only, and it’s been decided that you don’t need to.” Miets said with a sigh. “But don’t worry, Shrike, we’ll make sure your sacrifice isn’t in vain.” 

There was a chance that even if the ship exploded, his lifepod would protect him long enough for him to send out a distress beacon. Shrike clung to that futile hope as more and more emergency alarms began going off around him. The ship’s HUD was filling with damage reports, the ship itself was on fire and that fire was spreading. 

“I hope you burn in the Pits for this, Miets! I hope your armor rusts and you are consumed by the void!” Shrike shouted, fury rolling off of him in waves. “You’re just as expendable as I am, Miets! Just wait and see, you’ll be next! They’ll throw you away too!”

“I highly doubt that.” Miets said with a brief laugh. “But if thinking that will put your mind at ease, then feel free to cling to that hope, Shrike.”

Spitting a curse once the comm shut down and the screen went dark, Shrike turned his ship around with difficulty. If he was going out, he was going to take that damn shuttle with him!

 

...

 

The brilliance of the explosion behind them made a sound of distress escape Ratchet’s intake. After a few long seconds, he received a ping from the shuttleformer, feeling fairly grateful and confident that he was the clear victor of the skirmish.

Refusing to relax until he was sure they were safe, Ratchet guided the ailing craft he piloted further down. Entry into the hub’s atmosphere was rough, and it was clear that by the time they got this thing on the ground, they weren’t getting it off again. 

Hopefully there would be transport to be found to get them back home. That was secondary to the fact that he needed to find a medical bay of some sort as soon as he possibly could. There would be no point in going home if he wasn’t going to be able to bring Drift with him.

A flight frame rose up to meet them as they came closer, acting as a guide and a guard. All sharp angles and heavily armed, the silver and black bot bore no visible brands, but gave a cheery wing waggle before leading the shuttle down to a docking station. 

The rugged group of bots that were armed to the teeth nearby didn’t matter. The blinking comm. light on the control panel didn’t either. All that mattered as he managed to get his hands unlocked and releasing the flight controls was getting to Drift and making sure he was still alive. Ratchet threw off his seatbelt and heaved to his feet, getting Drift unhooked as well and hauling him off the flight deck.

He punched the button to lower the landing ramp as he passed it, then paused to haul Drift up into his arms. 

There were several bots waiting at the foot of the ramp when it finished descending, Ratchet not waiting before beginning to exit the shuttle. “I’m a medic!” He shouted, as if his colors and his insignia didn’t already give that away. “I need somewhere to work! And I need supplies!” 

The bots exchanged glances, several of them backing up as Ratchet dragged Drift down to street level with a great deal of difficulty. Two of them spoke quietly to one another, then one of the two moved to meet the medic. It was a tank, a big sturdy warframe that looked as if it had seen better days, and when it reached out towards Drift, Ratchet bared his denta like a mechanimal and snarled. 

Blinking, the bot stepped back and frowned like a scolded sparkling. The tank’s companion, a smaller sedan type wearing broken specs and a scraped red paint job, hiccuped in disgust and also stepped forward. 

“Lay off, will ya? You wanted a doctor?” She jerked a thumb at herself, moving with a slight wobble as she approached. “I’m a doctor.” 

“You’re also drunk.” Ratchet observed, the strong scent of cheap high grade wafting off the femme in a dizzying cloud. “I asked for space to work, not a doctor.” 

“Well, duh. I’m a doctor, I got the space to work. Your friend there, he still alive?” She leaned towards Drift and curled her nose. “He ain’t lookin’ too good.” 

“No, he’s not looking too good at all, but he is still alive.” Ratchet held firm, though his arms were starting to shake from the effort of keeping Drift aloft. Now was not the time to start questioning whether or not he could trust this bot, no matter how dubious he was of her extremely dented Autobrand and her inebriation. “Which way?” 

“Let Payload take him before you hurt yourself, old mech.” The femme snorted, the tank once again stepping forward. “He works for me-”

“I most certainly do not.” Payload growled, taking Drift from Ratchet with surprising gentleness. 

“He works for Notch, same as me, but bein’ a doctor, I outrank the lot of ‘em.” Sniffing, the femme turned and gestured for them to follow her. She was sporting a foot shaped dent right on her aft, deep enough to show all the grooves of the pede that had left it. “C’mon then.” 

“Wait.” Ratchet said, both the doctor and the tank looking at him in surprise. “There’s something on the ship I need to take with us. Something he’ll need when he wakes up.” 

“So go get it.” Payload said in a short tone. 

“No. She’ll go get it.” Ratchet pointed to the femme, who gave him an incredulous look. “I’ll stay here with you, Payload. Where I can see him.” He gestured to Drift, who was becoming more and more pale as time passed. 

“Sheesh.” Turning back around, the femme stalked up the ramp and into the ship. “What’m I lookin’ for?” 

“A sword. A big one. Jewel on the handle.” Ratchet said without taking his optics off of Drift. 

The sound of metal dragging across the floor of the shuttle reached him and the femme returned with the Greatsword resting on her shoulder. “Got it. Now, let’s go before your boyfriend joins the Allspark.” She said, stepping off the ramp and immediately heading off in the direction she had been before. 

Payload glanced from Ratchet to Drift, then followed the femme with a nod. Having no choice but to follow as well, Ratchet watched the two with caution. 

“How much is this going to cost me?” He asked, wondering if it would be safe to ask Drift for money when he woke up. The swordsmech was normally rather charitable with his dubiously amassed fortune.

“Frag if I know.” The femme said, trotting rather steadily down the narrow street with the sword still over her shoulder. “We’ll ask Notch when we get there.” 

“Ugh.” Payload said in disgust, slowing down and holding Drift away from his frame. “Prettybot just purged on me.” 

“Eh.” The femme shrugged at Payload after looking over her shoulder. “Seen you covered in worse. Remember that time Vestige-”

“I told you to never bring that up again!” Payload suddenly shouted, his heavy engine roaring, and the femme began to giggle hysterically as she skipped further ahead on the road. “Vert, I swear to Mortilus! I will remove your t-cog with my teeth!”

“Kinky.” Vert muttered. 

“Ugh! I can’t do anything with you!” 

“Sure you can! With consent of course.” 

“Primus damn it all, Vert!” 

Slag like this reminded Ratchet too much of the _Lost Light_ , the medic feeling a familiar processor ache beginning behind his optics. 

“Vert?” He queried, the femme looking over her shoulder again. 

“Yep. S’short for Vertical.” She replied. Ratchet gave her a look of disbelief and she snorted. “My Creators had very lofty aspirations for me, what can I say?” 

The ship they brought him to was large, but it looked as it if had seen better days. It was more patches than proper hull, and the name of it had been sloppily painted near the front viewport. 

Another mech was stationed at the bottom of the landing ramp, puffing away at a cygarette in a determined fashion. Judging by the discarded butts around his pedes, he had either been there awhile or he was as fond of the things as Kup was his cygars.

“It’s about time.” The mech hissed, looking around and rubbing his hands in a neurotic fashion. “There are so many organics around here, what took you so long?!” 

“Couldn’t find any fare.” Vert grunted in reply, stepping up onto the ramp. “And stop worrying about the organics, Rollcage. They’re not out to get you.”

“What’s with the sword?” Rollcage hurried after her, looking over his shoulder. “And who’s that down there?” 

“A medic. He and his friend need help. I’m lendin’ them my bay for a bit.” Vert explained. 

“Does Notch know?” Rollcage cast a wary glance at Ratchet, who was getting the distinct feeling he was going to regret his every decision sooner rather than later. 

“He’s gonna. Seriously though? The mech Payload’s totin’ is in seriously bad shape and my coding’s makin’ my protoflesh crawl.” Vert shoved Rollcage out of the way and beckoned Ratchet with one hand. “Bay’s this way. C’mon! Your boyfriend hasn’t got all day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr!
> 
> I post mostly food, pretty nature pictures, cats and Transformers.
> 
> http://drazyrohk.tumblr.com/


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